Clouds on the Horizon: Storms Rising, Year 1
by ArgentRoseSableWolf
Summary: Signs and portents are gathering in the British Wizarding World.  The ten year peace, such as it is , is coming to an end.  And a cautious, thoughful young man named Harry Potter is beginning his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry


Authors notes can be found at the end of the chapter, so those who wish to skip them can.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. Frankly, after the last two books, I don't want to! This is simply my own meanderings on how the stories might have been different had people behaved differently. I do not make any money off of Harry Potter, it all belongs to JK Rowling. Anything you recognize here is from her work, anything you don't, is my fault.

**  
**

**Clouds on the Horizon**

**Chapter One**

Harry James Potter was an extraordinary young man for an eleven year old. Oh, there were many who would have argued with that assessment, his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, for a start. He had lived with them for the past ten years, and in all that time, they had never had a decent word to say about him. Indeed, they didn't even call him by name, preferring terms like "Boy" or "Freak." They would have pointed instead to their son Dudley as a shining example of all that was good and noble.

Dudley, or as Harry privately thought of him, The-Hippo-Who-Walks-Like-A-Boy, would have snorted in a pig-like manner at the very idea. He would have followed this by indulging in his favourite pastime, making Harry's life a living hell. He had learned this behavior from his parents and, despite not being particularly bright, had proven to be very creative at it. He, along with his friends, had invented a sport they called Harry-hunting. They seemed to enjoy it, but Harry considered it a sport the same way a fox does fox-hunting as there was a strong resemblance. Dudley and his gang would chase Harry all over the neighborhood, and beat him up whenever they caught him. They would also beat up any other children who were at all friendly to Harry, resulting in him becoming even more isolated outside his home than in it.

The other adults in the town of Little Whinging regarded Harry with a very jaundiced eye. They had heard for years from Petunia about Harry's drunken lay-about parents who had gotten themselves killed in a car accident, foisting their son on the poor Dursleys. Therefore when their own children started appearing with unexplained bumps and bruises, suspicion, naturally, fell on Harry. Since the children were too afraid of Dudley and his gang to correct this impression, Harry soon became known around Little Whinging as "that young ruffian." "He'll come to a bad end, that one," people would say to one another, shaking their heads. Any one who had told them that there was anything extraordinary about him would have been met with looks of disbelief and scornful laughter.

Harry's teachers also looked on him as a hopeless case. His grades were poor; his attention constantly wandered. The other children shied away as if terrified of him, so he obviously had developmental problems as well. The teachers would have been amazed to learn that everything but the last was by design, and learned in a harsher school than theirs.

No, what made Harry so unusual was what he had managed to accomplish in spite of all these people in his life. He looked small, skinny, and undernourished, but appearances were deceiving. Petunia had always insisted on large meals for "her lads," not that she considered Harry one of them. So, first she, then later Harry as she foisted more of the cooking chores onto him, would cook large portions of food for each meal: meats, potatoes, rice dishes, vegs, salads, and large sticky desserts. Harry was served small portions at the meals, but was also responsible for all the cleaning up afterwards. Since Vernon and Dudley preferred to stick to meats, potatoes, and desserts, there were always plenty of healthy foods left over, that Harry could eat his fill of. Petunia was quite unaware of this as she assumed that they were simply thrown away. After all, they were people of a certain class, in her view. Heaven forefend that "leftovers" ever be served at _her_ table!

Harry's build was also deceptive. Yes, he was thin, but there was a wiry strength to him that would have surprised most people. His aunt and uncle had piled chores on him since he was old enough to walk. He cooked the meals, cleaned the house, maintained the yard and garden, repaired the buildings, and handled anything else that they could think of to give him to do. This, combined with the exercise he got running from Dudley and his gang, had given him unexpected strength and the endurance of a long-distance runner.

His grades were perhaps the biggest misdirection of all. The first time he brought home a test score higher than Dudley's he had learned painfully that this was a bad idea. He found himself beaten and thrown in his cupboard for the weekend for "cheating to show up Dudders." He took this lesson to heart, and made certain from then on that his grades showed middling poor. He offset this by spending his lunches in the school library studying on his own, rescuing old textbooks and other books from the rubbish tip, and helping himself to the books that Dudley threw unread into his second bedroom. Since no one ever bothered to look inside his cupboard, it was easy enough for him to hide books in there, and study them late at night while everyone else was asleep. So while his grades reflected someone who was just barely passing his classes, he was actually a year or two ahead in most subjects.

Harry didn't know why his life was so miserable; he just knew that it was. He knew what his aunt and uncle told him, that he was worthless, a freak, that no one wanted him. In spite of having had that thrown at him all his life, it never quite sunk in, never quite overwhelmed his own view of himself. Perhaps some small part of him remembered a time before Privet Drive, a time when he had been loved and wanted. Perhaps on some unconscious level he even understood why he was still alive, and the sacrifices that had been made to protect him. In any case, he knew what life with the Dursleys was like and, since there was no changing it, he just had to deal with it.

Much of his behavior could be laid down to rebellion against his "family." They wanted him weak; he would be strong. They wanted him ignorant; he would learn. They wanted to destroy his sense of self; he wouldn't let them. He would make himself the opposite of what they wanted and he would do it right under their noses, with them none the wiser.

So, even though he himself would not have believed it, Harry Potter was an unusual person. If that had been said to him, if he'd answered at all, he would have just shrugged his shoulders and said he only did what he had to. He never would have understood how few people could have managed just that.

Exactly how extraordinary Harry Potter was would not become clear until July 31, 1991, Harry's eleventh birthday.

_**CotHCotHCotHCotHCotHCotHCotHCotHCotHCotHCotHCotHCotHCotHCotH**_

Years afterwards Harry would wonder how things might have been different if he had not hidden the letter from his family. If his uncle had seen it, how would he have reacted? Probably blown up, likely taken his anger out on Harry. Certainly, he would never have seen it which would have changed, well, just about everything.

That day did not rank as one of the finest of Harry's young life, at least in the beginning. He awoke as usual to the thundering herd that was Dudley pounding down the stairs. Once dressed, he wandered into the kitchen to begin cooking breakfast, only to be confronted by a smelly tub next to the sink. His aunt told him she was dying some of Dudley's old clothes for him to wear when he started at Stonewall Secondary in the fall. As he got out the bacon and eggs, Harry reflected that his reputation was not likely to improve at his new school, even without Dudley and his friends present.

While they were eating breakfast, they heard the clank of the mail slot. Unsurprisingly, Harry was the one tasked to retrieve the mail. After quickly dodging several pokes from Dudley and his Smeltings stick, Harry headed down the hall to the front door, wondering all the way whose brilliant idea it had been to give young boys heavy sticks to hit people with. Likely the same genius who came up with the colour scheme for Dudley's uniform, he finally concluded.

He picked the mail up from the floor, idly flicking his fingers through it as he headed back to the kitchen. There was never anything for him, but he might as well have the small pleasure of knowing what arrived first. It's not like there were very many other pleasures afforded to him in this house…. What the bloody hell?

Harry missed a step as he reached the thick yellow parchment envelope. Inscribed on it in green ink was… his name!

_Mr. H. Potter  
The Cupboard under the Stairs  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey_

His mind racing, he thrust the envelope through the crack between his cupboard door and the wall as he passed by. He couldn't imagine who could be sending him a letter, but he knew better than to let his aunt and uncle see it. If they did, they would likely delight in destroying it unread in front of him. Just one more thing that they could take pleasure in denying him.

He returned to the table, handed the mail to his uncle, and sat down to finish his breakfast. He did so, successfully dodging another poke or two from Dudley's Smeltings stick. His uncle went through the mail, grousing about rising costs as he looked over the bills. From the glares being shot in his direction, it was clear that Harry was intended to feel guilty over this, as if his presence was responsible for all of the Dursleys' woes, which of course, in their minds, it was.

After breakfast was done, Harry was left to clean up the dishes and the kitchen. Once this was completed to his Aunt Petunia's satisfaction, she turned to him and snapped.

"Now, boy, I want you out of the house for the rest of the day! My bridge club will be playing here this afternoon, and I don't want you under foot. Make yourself a lunch from the leavings in the refrigerator, and get out!"

Harry quickly made himself a small ham and cheese sandwich, and added a couple of pieces of fruit and some carrots to it. Petunia never minded him eating fruits and veg, as she assumed that he hated them, the same as Dudley. Actually, he was quite fond of them, but had no intention of telling her that.

Filling a bottle with water, he took it and his lunch to his cupboard. He put them in an old rucksack of Dudley's with only one strap left. He also put some textbooks, pens, and paper in there, so he would have something to occupy himself with. Checking quickly to see that his aunt was not looking, he slipped the envelope into the rucksack as well.

He exited Number 4 via the kitchen door, hearing Uncle Vernon calling out at the same time that he and Dudley were leaving. They were going off to visit Vernon's sister Marge to help her mend some of the runs on her dog breeding kennels. Harry sighed in relief at being reminded of this. Without Dudders around, his friends were less likely to be interested in chasing one Harry Potter.

Harry walked along the streets of Little Whinging, until he reached the local play park. He passed by the children playing on the swings, slides, and carousels, ignoring the looks he got from children and parents alike. He continued past the park into the woods beyond, until he reached a large oak tree. Once there, he scrambled up the branches of the tree to a point about twenty-five feet from the ground, and settled back into a comfortable seat formed by several branching limbs.

This was Harry's secret place, where he came to escape Dudley and his gang, his refuge of peace and calm. He had discovered it several years ago, and thus far had avoided letting the hunting crew find him here. Not that they could have reached him up there, being lazy and overweight to a boy, but they could have thrown rocks at him, or found other ways to ruin the place for him.

After twenty minutes of just sitting and soaking up the quiet peace of the woods, Harry pulled his rucksack into his lap and opened it. He removed his lunch and set it in a notch of branches then opened the bottle and took a long, cool drink of water. Capping and setting the bottle aside, he reached into the sack again and pulled out the mysterious letter.

Examining it closely, he noticed several strange things. First of all, there was no sign of postage on the envelope. Secondly, there was no return address. The parchment—and it clearly was parchment, not paper—was heavy and of a fine quality. Turning it over, he saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H. All in all, it looked like no letter that he had ever seen before.

Finally, shrugging, he broke the seal and opened the envelope. Staring at it wasn't going to answer any of his questions, so he might as well see what he could find out from the contents. He pulled out the letter and read:

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY **

_**Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards) **_

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. Yours sincerely,

**Minerva McGonagall, **  
**Deputy Headmistress**

Harry's mind was awhirl with questions and confusion. Witchcraft? Wizardry? Accepted to a school? He wasn't aware anyone had even applied on his behalf; he certainly hadn't. As promised there was a second sheet listing books, equipment and uniforms, but reading these only added to his confusion. _Standard Book of Spells?_ A cauldron? Robes? He was so overwhelmed with his thoughts that he didn't even notice when he spoke out loud to himself.

"What does she mean, 'we await your owl'?"

A sudden "hoot" behind him caused him to turn his head sharply. Sitting on a branch two feet from him was a small brown owl. Harry and the owl stared silently at one another for several minutes, and then the owl blinked his large, yellow eyes.

"Erm," said Harry for a moment, feeling rather embarrassed about talking to a bird. "Am I supposed to send a reply with you, like a messenger pigeon?"

The owl's only response was a loud "HOOT!", and several rapid blinking of his eyes. Harry was not very familiar with birds, but he had the strangest feeling that the owl felt insulted by the pigeon reference.

"Um, I'm sorry if I offended you, but I'm not very familiar with owls. And I've never heard of owls carrying messages…" His voice trailed off as the owl just continued to stare at him without response.

Harry sat for some time just staring at the letter in his lap, occasionally looking up at the unmoving owl next to him. This was a day of surprises, and no mistake about that! There were many things he might have imagined reading in a mysterious letter, but he didn't think he'd ever have come up with anything like this. Some careful thought was definitely called for. He rested his chin in his palms, elbows on his knees, and proceeded to do just that.

Harry enjoyed reading fiction as much as he enjoyed studying and learning. One of his favourite discoveries in the school library rubbish bin had been a tattered copy of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's _'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.'_ After he had been thinking randomly for some time about the letter and the possibilities, he recalled one of Holmes' maxims from the stories. "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." He decided to apply that to this situation.

First possibility, he was dreaming all of this. He closed his eyes, leaned back, and pinched himself hard on the arm. Ouch! Opening his eyes, he looked around. The letter was still in his lap, the owl was still sitting on the branch staring at him. OK, the dream theory was eliminated.

Secondly, this could all be some kind of practical joke. 'OK,' he thought to himself, 'let's give that one some thought. First of all, this took a lot of effort. The parchment and ink must have been expensive, and the handwriting is very fine. I don't know about owls, but from the shows Uncle Vernon watches, it's very hard to train pigeons as messengers. I can't imagine owls would be any easier. So, time involved, money involved. The only people I can think of who would want to prank me would be Dudley and his gang, and this is way beyond them. Anything more subtle than a punch or a kick, or pushing my head in the toilet is beyond them!'

Harry nodded to himself, continuing his train of thought out loud. "So, not a dream, not a prank. The only thing left is that this is on the level. So, what to do now? I suppose my best choice is to write an answer to…" he looked at the signature on the letter, "… Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, and see what happens next. Maybe this is all some kind of strange mistake."

He dug around in his rucksack until he found a pen. He turned the letter over to the blank side, and began to write:

Deputy Headmistress McGonagall  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Dear Mrs. McGonagall,

I received your letter today, the 31st of July. I am confused by, well, everything. Are you sure you have the right Harry Potter? It's just, I've never heard of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, so I don't see how I could have been accepted.

If this is not a mistake, then I'm going to have a lot of questions. Where is the school? How do I get there? Where do I get the supplies on the list? For that matter, how am I supposed to pay for all this? My aunt and uncle are planning to send me to the local county school, and I don't think they'd be willing to pay to send me somewhere else.

This is all very strange to me, and I wish someone could come and explain it. I'm at home most days during the summer, except when my aunt chases me out of the house. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, could someone come to our house and answer my questions?

Sincerely,  
Harry James Potter (in case that answers the question about the wrong Harry)

Harry looked over his response a couple of times, and couldn't think of anything else to add to it. He folded the letter back up and tucked it into the original envelope, keeping the supply list and tucking it away, just in case. Then he scribbled out his name and address, and wrote "Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" below it. He didn't have a way to re-seal the wax seal, so he searched his rucksack until he found a rubber band, and wrapped that around the envelope to close it. He then looked over at the owl.

"Um, I guess that I'm supposed to give this to you, and you'll be able to find Mrs. McGonagall at this Hogwarts place?"

He stretched out his hand holding the envelope towards the owl which extended its left claw and took it from him. Harry pulled back in surprise as the owl hurled itself off the branch into the air, spread its wings, and began flying off to the north. As the owl receded into the distance, Harry sat watching until it was out of sight.

"Well, that's that," he said, "I guess all I can do now is to wait for a response."

Turning back to his rucksack, he pulled out a textbook and a spiral notebook. Opening the text at a bookmark, he laid it down in his lap then unwrapped his sandwich and began to munch on it. Looking down at the book, he lost himself in the world of intermediate mathematics, all thoughts of letters and owls pushed from his mind, at least for now.

**_Author's Notes-Wolf:_**

I'm back again finally, this time with a new story. After finishing Deadly Horrors, er, Deathly Hallows, I found I was almost as annoyed as I had been by Half-Assed Prick. Excuse me, I should say Half-Blood Prince, though I think mine is more accurate, considering who it refers to! Anyway, one of the things I found most annoying was that I felt most of the characters really hadn't grown throughout the series. I mean, Harry is still the naive little twit who thinks the sun shines out of Dumbledore's rear, no matter how many times the old coot has screwed him over. For crying out loud, he's fighting a war in book 7 using Stunning spells!!!! Hermione is still a rule-obsessed know-it-all. And the characters who have changed, it's almost unbelieveable. Ron's "maturing" in DH was horribly fake. The whole "Snivellus-Lily" sequence to me felt pasted on, an last desperate attempt to make a decent human being out of a worthless bastard. And the less said about Harry and Ginny's completely non-existent romance, the better!

So, it got me thinking. How would the stories be different if the characters actually seemed to learn and grow from their experiences? I originally looked at writing this from the summer between third and fourth year, but after the first chapter or so, I realized that it didn't work. Really, the changes needed to start well before then, even if much of it is only in the characters heads. So I started over, from Harry's eleventh birthday. For the first some number of chapters, my author's notes will contain one character description per chapter, with my thoughts on what they really should be like, based on canon descriptions.

For those reading "Harry Potter and the Warlock's Coven", I have not abandoned it. My next posting should be the new chapter of that fic, which I am partway through. I'm outting this up to a) get that dad-gummed plot bunny off my back, and b) so I have two stories to alternate between, working on one when the other is blocked. I do not intend to post anything else new until one of these is completed. Really. I mean it. I hope so, at any rate.

**_Author's Notes-Rose:_**

I'll be doing a bit more writing in this story, as my beloved Wolf thinks I've got a good handle on Hermione's character. Actually what he's said is that I'm very much like Hermione as he envisions her here. :-) He's so sweet! Well, when he's not ranting about the 6th and 7th books, that is.

As for Warlock's Coven, I promise that I will keep gently nudging Wolf about the next chapter. I also promise that I will do my damndest to keep the rabid plot bunnies from taking over. They do keep spawning though...


End file.
